A Sort of Spark
by thoughts-of-joy-dreams-of-love
Summary: "They're just two kids beneath a sunset that's now more purple than orange and a small gang of stars jabbing through the sky. Not the glory boy and the nerdy girl. Just Troy and Gabriella, two out of 7.4 billion." Oneshot, in which Troy and Gabriella try to capture the end of summer. Rated for a little language.


**A/N: I never thought I'd ever be writing High School Musical fanfic, but the 10th anniversary arrived, I rewatched it, got really nostalgic for the second grade, and then this popped out of my brain. Anyway, this is just some Troyella fluff with a little angst thrown in because it's what I do. It takes place between HSM 2 and 3. Enjoy!**

...

 _"I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain." -_ John Keats

...

He speeds down the road in his truck, laughter bubbling from his mouth and mingling with the laughter of the girl beside him. She reaches over and grips his free hand for the simple sake of it, and he thinks that he really should have both hands on the wheel, because his father always insists on it - but what the hell, right? His father isn't here right now.

It's just Troy and Gabriella.

Their time at Lava Springs has ended as summer draws to a close, and they are _determined,_ damnit, to spend the final two weeks of it together and crazy. He asked her that afternoon if she wanted to see a movie, and she laughed her crystal laugh and said, "Troy, we've seen practically every movie in theaters right now. Why don't we just go for a drive?" and he agreed because he'll do just about everything she asks him to.

They are far from Albuquerque now, or it feels like it. There isn't a single other car on the road, and the sun is beginning to dip behind the orange-rock horizon, the light washing over them like melted caramel. A landscape of red cliffs and yellow plants and wine-colored shadows dashes past them, and Gabriella imagines she's on Mars, happy and hidden on the Red Planet with nobody but her Troy. It strikes her how she never would have been able to imagine this just a year ago - a beautiful, hotshot basketball boy with a crown of misplaced love and expectations, taped together with a small, drifting, insecure-to-the-bones freaky math girl. They never thought they could be any more than just those two things, but that was before each other.

Troy's sort of a terrible driver, really, zooming through the road's curves with little of the precision he has on the basketball court (maybe because his gaze is fixed on her more than it is in front of him), but they're teenagers and so neither are immune to the thrill of riskiness, and the truck's air conditioning hardly even works and it's all heat and gale and bronze sun and sick giddiness.

It is summer, and they are ardent and infatuated.

Troy squeezes his sweaty hand around her sweaty hand and looks over at her again, because she's beautiful and she _ought_ to be looked at. He watches the hot wind rip through her hair, making it dance like ripples on a dark, steaming pond. He watches the pomegranate bow of her mouth; the umber twinkle of her eyes. He removes his hand from hers and runs it up and down her arm. Her ginger skin is nearly burning to the touch, because that's what happens when your air conditioner sucks but you drive in the New Mexico sun for a couple hours anyway.

She grins at him. "Keep your eyes on the road, Wildcat."

"How could I?" he replies with a lopsided smirk, but does as she says.

Gabriella is very sensible, sensible enough to at least _try_ and get him to watch the road, even though the day has been wonderful and lazy and wild and it makes her feel indestructible. She and Troy have done nothing but drive very fast, and talk, and laugh, and harmonize with the radio. Troy said that he sounded terrible and she assured him that he didn't, because she knows how often he feels like he's not good enough. She does like his eyes on her, though, even as she tells him to look away - she loves how blue they are, the kind of neon-blue you want to string up and put on a necklace, intense and clear and crackling. She likes how large and slick his palm is as it meets hers and stays.

The sun slides even lower. Troy shifts in his seat and says, "It'll probably be getting dark soon."

"Yeah," Gabriella looks out at the desert again. She has lived here long enough to know that it gets _cold_ when the sun retreats, and if the truck's air conditioner is ineffective, she doesn't have much hope for its heater. Not to mention her mother _hates_ it when she stays out with Troy for too long, especially after dark. Mrs. Montez likes Troy very much, more than she expected to, but that doesn't erase her protectiveness for her daughter. "I guess we should turn back."

Troy bites his lip. "'Guess so."

Neither of them really _want_ to. It has been a warm, reckless, mindless day, and they aren't ready for it to end quite yet. They can't help but wonder what it would be like to drive with each other as the sun falls down around them; the night dressing them up in shades of indigo and raising goosebumps on their skin. Just driving on and on into forever and leaving that imminent future behind.

But Gabriella knows better. "We really should go home, Troy."

He sighs and relents. "Yeah, I know." He manages a sloppy three-point turnaround and speeds back to Albuquerque and the end of summer.

For several minutes neither of them say anything, but eventually Troy feels like he has to poke at the quiet. "Gabriella, you...you had fun today, right?"

"Of course! It was nice just hanging out with you."

"Good." The shadows lengthen, the day dies a little more, and Troy's eyes flicker between her and the road ahead. "I just...I want you to have good memories of this summer, okay? Since you said it was so important to you and everything, and I was kind of screwing everything up at the beginning -"

"Troy, don't worry about it. I mean, you were kind of acting like an idiot," she says. She thinks back to earlier in the summer, how sure she was that Troy was abandoning her for something better. It's all swept away now, especially on days like today, when he's earnest and fun and genuine, and she knows this is who Troy _really_ is. "But it's in the past. Sharpay was more to blame than you were. You know that, right?"

"I guess." But he doesn't know, not really. He's always been the center of the universe at East High, and if he screws up how is that universe supposed to keep spinning? All mistakes are huge to him. "I still feel bad, though. I just - it seemed so important to get that scholarship, you know? Everyone's always expecting me to be a champion or whatever, especially my dad, and it's like -" He runs an agitated hand through his hair. "Like - my entire life I've been doing what everyone else wanted me to. My dad played basketball, so _I_ started playing basketball...I mean I really do love playing it, but even if I _didn't_ I think I still might've done it, because every little boy just wants their dad to be proud of them, you know? When you're a kid your dad is the best guy on the planet and you wanna be just like him, especially if everyone else thinks he's great, too."

Gabriella feels a pang, dull and familiar but still there, for her own father. He died when she was only in preschool, so she'll never quite understand Troy when he talks about his father like this; all the complications between them. She hesitantly rests a hand on his shoulder, wishing she knew how to better comfort him. "Troy…"

"So my _dad_ was East High's basketball star, and then _I_ became their basketball star," he continues. He didn't intend to say all this, but something in the amber breeze is pulling the words out of him. "And everyone just expects me to...sustain it. To keep on being the best forever and ever, and I just...I'm gonna fall short eventually. I used to just about kill myself practicing, because I was terrified of losing that spot at the top." He swallows, his eyes shiny and nervous. "Shit, sorry - I don't know where all this is coming from. I just wanted to explain why I acted the way I did."

"You don't have to explain yourself."

"But I _want_ to. We never really had a talk about what all happened, and I -" He looks at her, all angel-faced and sweet, and thinks that he probably doesn't deserve her. "I just wanted to get that scholarship so bad because of all that, I guess. Feeling like I've gotta be the best, like I've always gotta win or people won't...like me anymore or something. Because I'm not being who they thought I was." His voice quiets. "It can be really hard, though, to tell if _I_ actually want something or...or if I want it because the people around think I _should_ want it. It's always just sort of been people telling me what to do, and it's like...I'm still trying to figure out the difference between the Troy in _my_ head and the Troy in everyone else's."

Gabriella rubs her hand over his shoulder, trying to smooth out the tension there. "It has gotten better though, hasn't it? After everything that happened over the school year…"

"Yeah. There's less pressure now to fit into that mold; I don't have to be _just_ the 'basketball guy' anymore. But when you've gone so long with that whole 'I've gotta be a star' mentality it's hard to just...forget about it. And my dad really does try to ease up on me, but he's always gonna have high expectations. It's what he does." He looks over at her and smiles a little bit. "But things wouldn't have gotten better at all if you hadn't shown up."

A blush vivid as crushed berries spreads across her cheeks. "I'm not some sort of savior, Troy."

"I know. But you were a sort of spark."

"So were you," she breathes. He has laid himself bare before her and the evening desert, and she wants to do the same. She's never, ever been as open with anyone as he's been with her, but she wants to _try;_ to tell him just how much he means in her teenage heart. "Almost every school I went to people put me in that geeky girl box. I was never _viciously_ bullied or anything, but kids poked fun at me, because that's what happens when you're the new kid and you're quiet and you do too well in school." She looks down at her hands, at how a stripe of orange sunlight glides across them as the sun sets. "Making friends was just...hard. I got hurt a lot and I knew it was never going to be permanent anyway, and -" her voice catches on the words piling up in her throat. "And - I've told you about how my dad died when I was little. And that combined with all the moving around just made it a little hard to me to get attached and trust people." Tears sting in her eyes and she swipes at them uselessly. "Oh my God - this is so embarrassing. We were having such a fun day and now I start _crying -"_

"Hey, _I_ was the one who started getting all serious first!" Troy says, sounding a little panicked. He slows the truck down and pulls over to the side of the road. Without hesitating, he reaches over and pleats Gabriella into his arms. His hand runs over her hair, still warm from the sun even as night creeps in more and more. "Don't be embarrassed. Please."

She pulls back and gives him a damp smile. "I'm fine. Really. It's just hard to think about sometimes. But," she heaves a quivering breath and reaches for his hand. "That's why I was so upset about what happened earlier this summer. Because I trusted you. I still do, of course. But I felt like I'd really known you, and then you just started reverting back into that popular guy everyone said you used to be, the one who wouldn't look twice at a girl like me, and...I dunno. I guess my immediate thought was just 'see Gabriella, here's what you get for being too attached'." She rubs her thumb over the top of his hand. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad. I swear I'm not still angry at you. I guess I just...wanted you to know. Since you were letting me know all your stuff…"

"Gabriella," Troy leans his forehead against hers, his crystalline eyes wide and boyish and vulnerable. "I'm so sorry."

"I know." She whispers. "It's okay."

They sit there and look at each other, foreheads connected and breath mingling. Troy feels so enamoured with the tawny glow of her skin, the delicate kiss of her eyelashes along the bridge of his nose, the way she smells, like raspberry and sandalwood and a faint gleam of sweat. He thinks idly that he is going to marry her one day. He is only seventeen and recklessly snared by the pure impact of her presence, but he _knows._ Gabriella releases a little sigh and touches the side of his face, and oh, my God, she is just so fascinated by the sweep of his eyelashes around that blue and the float of his Adam's apple and every little atom in his his body.

They're just two kids in a truck beneath a sunset that's now more purple than orange and a small gang of stars jabbing through the sky. Not the glory boy and the nerdy girl. Just Troy and Gabriella, two out of 7.4 billion.

Troy presses his lips against her pretty red mouth, hard, and she thinks he's beautiful and he thinks she's beautiful, and she sucks at his bottom lip like candy and he wraps his hands in the black hot coils of her hair and falls more and more crazy-in-love every second.

"What time is it?" Gabriella breathes once he moves his lips to her temple. "My mom's gonna be furious if I'm not home by about 10:30."

Troy chuckles, amazed at how lucid she can remain when kissing her practically makes him forget there's even an Albuquerque to return to. "Okay, we'll go home." He leans back and looks at her with a promise in his eyes. "But just...I want you to know that I'm not going to abandon you. I'm not."

"And you," she smiles. "Are _always_ going to be good enough for me, Wildcat." She brushes a lock of hair away from his eyes. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being you. For giving me this summer."

And speeding back home in the fading light, they know that summer may be coming to an end, and the future may be looming above them - but as long as they have each other, they will stay young and vibrant and brilliantly _themselves,_ forever and ever.

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